


Forged in Fire, Touched by Ice

by falindis



Series: Into This Wild Abyss [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Almaren, Aulë has no bullshit radar, Awkward Crush, Flirting, Forge Flirting, Implied Masturbation, M/M, Mairon has OCD, Mairon is Sad and Angry, Mairon makes Melkor's armor, Melkor makes Mairon uncomfortable, Musical Smithing, Part of Series, The Seduction of Mairon, Years of the Lamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falindis/pseuds/falindis
Summary: “I could give you something that no other Vala cannot. The other Maiar envy you, and so does Aulë. That is why he controls you, smothers you like the wick of a candle. But I have seen the true fire that burns inside you, my little spark. A flame like yours cannot be controlled or tamed. It burns far too brightly for that.”
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Into This Wild Abyss [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742446
Comments: 24
Kudos: 77





	1. Of Beauty Unseen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lehnsherry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lehnsherry/gifts).



> Mairon is the most hardworking of all Aulë's smiths, and he strives for perfection in everything he does. And although his works are flawless, he is not truly happy. It is only when he meets Melkor that he understands where he truly belongs, and what he is destined to do.
> 
> First fic of "Into This Wild Abyss", a series focusing on the Seduction of Mairon and his subsequent descent to darkness.

They say that the first moment you meet your soulmate you’ll know.

That the world falls still and stalls where it stands. Their eyes lock with yours across the room, and everything fades away. A tension falls in the air, freezing you into place, unable to shift your gaze away.

But when Mairon first met Melkor, it wasn’t like that. The opposite. Mairon barely noticed him walk into the room, so occupied he was with his work. His whole world could fit between his hammer and the piece of molten metal underneath.

Aulë always made his smiths work hard. But amongst all his servants in Almaren, Mairon worked the hardest. He was always the last and first to the forge: constantly tinkering on bigger and smaller projects, experimenting and improving. The forge was empty at this late hour, but Mairon could not stop working.

Visions of work often came to him in dreams. The previous night he had dreamed of a new type of alloy, one that withstood the extremes of heat and cold better than anything he had tried before. He had been mixing and hammering metal all day, and he would not stop before he got it right.

Or so he thought, before a shadow crossed his eye.

Mairon lifted his gaze slowly, as if waking from a trance. A figure was standing in front of him, at least a head taller. The man was clad all in black, his pale face framed with long, raven locks hanging in silken strands. This was not Aulë. Or any of his smiths, to that matter.

“Excuse me?” Mairon asked the stranger, a hint of annoyance in his voice due to the interruption. “What are you doing here?”

The stranger lifted one, quizzical eyebrow, as if not fully understanding the question. “You don’t know who I am?”

“No”, Mairon blinked. He knew he was being rude, but he was in a hurry, and the metal was already cooling. It would soon be beyond saving. “As you can see, I am working. If you have no business at my forge, leave.”

“Your forge.” The stranger’s lips curved into a half smile. “But you are not Aulë.”

“Aulë has already retired for the day.”

But although the stranger now had the information he seeked, he showed no interest of leaving. His gaze was still locked on Mairon, penetrating deep. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. What is your name, Maia?”

“Mairon.”

“Mairon”, the stranger repeated slowly, savoring the name on his tongue. “What are you working on?”

This time it was Mairon who raised his eyebrows in a question. What did this stranger care for his work? They had only just met.

“It’s… a piece of armor”, Mairon managed a reply. “Made out of a new alloy I am working on.”

“Interesting. May I observe?”

Mairon was baffled of the request, but obliged. At least he was finally allowed to work.

So he set to hammering the metal, forgetting the stranger’s eyes on him, losing himself in his work. The metal bended easily to his will, despite having cooled off a bit. Once the hammering was complete, Mairon set it to cool and observed his work.

“It’s… beautiful.”

Mairon startled a bit. He had entirely forgotten of the stranger’s presence. They had now moved closer to observe the metal plate. Mairon bowed his head in shame.

“It’s flawed. The alloy is still impure.”

The stranger shook his head. “I see no such thing.”

“You have an untrained eye.”

“Or perhaps I only have the gift of seeing beauty where it lies unseen.” The stranger had now turned their gaze back on Mairon, and a hint of a smile played again on their lips.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mairon.”

The stranger turned their back and left, and it was only after the door had closed that Mairon realized he had not asked for their name.

*

From that day onward, Mairon often felt like he was being watched.

He worked late, as always, trying out new mixtures to polish his alloy to perfection. The first ten or so tries were a failure, yet Mairon worked persistently. He hammered one piece of armor after the other, worked on the carving and ornaments, making sure that the armor was not only functional, but also beautiful.

Every now and then Mairon would feel a strange tingle in the back of his neck, or see a shadow from the corner of his eye. Yet he mostly ignored the feeling: it had always been easy for him to lose himself in his work. Besides, he was used to the other Maiar eyeing him strangely. He had never fit in as well as he wanted to.

After seven nights of working Mairon started to grow tired of the itch. It interrupted his thoughts more often than he cared for, and during his nights he would awake from restless dreams of shadow and flame. It was the same night he finally finished his armor. The breastplate was glimmering brightly in the dying light of the forge. Intricate spiral patterns dotted the silvery surface, and a set of feather-like structures donned the back of the plate. The sheer beauty of it made Mairon’s breath catch.

That is when Mairon heard the door open.

“Aulë”, Mairon lifted his gaze. “I was just wanting to talk to you.”

But the figure at the door was not Aulë. Instead Mairon recognized the dark stranger from a week ago.

“Oh”, he said, disappointed. “It’s you.”

“Expecting someone else?”

“Aulë”, Mairon replied. “If it’s him you’re looking for again, he’s not here.”

The stranger just shook his head. “I’m not after Aulë this time.”

“Who, then?”

“You.”

Mairon almost choked on his breath. “Come again?”

“I’ve come to see you, Mairon.”

Mairon put down his hammer and leaned onto his table, as if to steady himself. He felt suddenly dizzy.

“Why?”

“You’ve managed to impress me.” A smile flashed on the stranger’s face. “An impressing task in itself.”

Mairon shook his head. “I still don’t understand.”

“I’ve been watching you work. Aulë and I often… share thoughts of smithwork. Sadly, we’re not as close as we used to be, but I’ve always admired good craftmanship. Aulë truly has the gift of choosing the best from the best.”

The stranger didn’t say it directly, but the tone of his voice told enough. Still, Mairon didn’t understand. How could _his_ work possibly be among the best? He constantly made mistakes, constantly struggled to get everything right. Just the fact that he worked so late told that he wasn’t as fast as the others, as good as the others.

“You’re surely mistaken”, Mairon replied, hiding from the stranger’s piercing gaze. “I’m no-one special.”

“Truly?” the stranger circled around Mairon, surprisingly gracefully for a man of his stature. “What about this piece of armor, then?”

Mairon’s cheeks flushed. He finally moved away from his workbench to the armor stand, as if he could cover it with his body. “Nothing. Just a project.”

The stranger ignored his protests. He simply walked past Mairon to observe the armor closer. He ran his fingers on the surface of the silver plate, humming with satisfaction.

“The metallurgy is flawless”, he admired. “It feels cool to the touch, withstands extreme heat.”

Mairon blinked in surprise. “You… are correct.”

“But not only heat”, the stranger continued, closing his eyes as if to concentrate. “Also cold.”

“Y-yes.” Mairon gulped, his throat suddenly dry. “I was thinking Manwë could wear it, if he ever needed it.”

 _“Manwë._ The feathers. Of course.”

Mairon felt his spirits fall. “You don’t like it.”

“Incorrect.” The stranger’s hand brushed the metal feathers with a clatter. “I simply believe you chose the wrong target.”

“How come?”

“Manwë is the king of the Valar. He doesn’t fight – he lets his Maiar do it for him. Besides, an armor designed for such extremes would go to waste on someone with such desire for comfort.”

Mairon’s shame had now shifted into confusion. How did this stranger know so much about the Valar? It was almost as if he knew them personally.

“I happen to know one much more suited for this.”

Mairon’s eyebrows furrowed. “Who are you again?”

“I believe I didn’t introduce myself last time.” The stranger smiled fully now, flashing his sharp, canine-like teeth. “My name is Melkor.”

 _Melkor?_ Mairon wondered, as the stranger turned to the door and left. _Where had he heard that name before?_

Then the realization struck him, and his eyes widened.

_Oh no._


	2. Tongues of Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A terrible realization dawns upon Mairon, as the Vala's identity is revealed to him. An "accident" occurs at the forge, and Mairon considers telling Aulë.

_Melkor._

_Melkor the Vala._

_Manwë’s brother. The Rebel. The Fallen One._

One name. One name was all it took to ruin everything. Mairon had of course heard the stories. Every Maia in Almaren spoke of the Vala in hushed whispers, some not even daring to mention him by name. They said that at the beginning of time Melkor was like them, pure and incorrupt; then he turned his back on them and moved away from Almaren, into his great subterranean fortress of Utumno. There were rumors that he was gathering an army there, but few had dared to venture so far north. For most Melkor was simply a bedtime story, some distant dark figure looming over the horizon. That was what he had been to Mairon too: he was too young to truly remember the Great Music, the Discord Melkor had woven to it and the mere fabric of the world.

That was until now.

Mairon continued his work with a seemingly cold composure, but underneath his mask he was crumbling. Why him? What did Melkor possibly want to do with his work? No—what did he want with _him?_

Melkor didn’t come back immediately the next day. Nor the day after. For a while Mairon thought the Vala had simply understood to leave him alone. But when he once again felt the chill touch of power graze his veins during a late evening at the forge, he understood that he had been mistaken.

“Good evening”, the familiar voice echoed from the shadows.

Mairon froze into place, his back still turned to the newcomer. “Why have you come?”

“I think you know.”

Mairon’s cheeks flushed. He wished he hadn’t asked. “I know who you are. You’re not supposed to be here.”

Melkor’s laugh was a shudder, the rumbling of tectonic plates. “Oh, Mairon. There is no need to be afraid of me.”

Afraid of him? No. It wasn’t him that Mairon was afraid of. It was _himself._ The praise from the Vala invoked a sense of _something_ inside him. It was that feeling that he dreaded. That everyone would notice. What if they would see clean through him? Was he tainted, now? Corrupted?

The smell of smoke filled Mairon’s senses as the Vala came closer, his dark form clouding the room. He emanated power, like a thundercloud or a wintry storm. Mairon didn’t understand how he had not felt it before. He felt inescapably drawn towards him, a servile spirit seeking attachment to a much more powerful being.

“I don’t want you here”, Mairon closed his eyes. “Leave me alone.”

“Why? You don’t seem to be working anymore.”

“I would be working, had you not interrupted me. Leave, before I lose my temper.”

Melkor’s smile flashed in the corner of Mairon’s eye. “Was that a threat?"

Mairon’s breath caught. He wanted to tell the Vala off, to force all of his _fëa_ upon him in a terrible storm, but his very being fought against this urge. It was wrong of a Maia to defy a Vala _._ His head bowed in obedience, and a terrible shame shook him to the core.

“No, my lord.”

Melkor released a long sigh, more of disappointment than relief. What in the Void did he want?

“That suit of armor you designed for Manwë”, he said, “I would like to try it on.”

Mairon didn’t dare object. “Of course, my lord.”

As Melkor moved towards the armor stand, Mairon stole a glance at the Vala’s direction. Melkor was wearing his accustomed _fana:_ a tall, lithe body clothed in flowing, black fabric. As the Vala reached the stand he observed the armor momentarily; then shed his form altogether, until he was nothing but a non-corporeal spirit of smoke and the space between stars. Mairon felt his cheeks flush and stifled a choking cough as he turned away. He didn’t raise his gaze until he heard the telltale clinks of metal as the armor found a new owner.

“How do I look?”

Mairon drew a sharp breath. The armor fit Melkor like a glove, highlighting every edge and muscle of his body. Just looking into his direction was difficult: Mairon had Sung words of power into this armor, ones that burned like the sun and stung like a bitter cold. Yet something was wrong. The silvery color drowned out the unique shade of the Vala’s skin, looked too bright against the darkness of his hair. _Wrong._ This was wrong.

“What is it?” Melkor asked. His mere presence was choking now, suffocating. Waves of nausea crashed through Mairon’s body. He had to steady himself against the table to stand upright.

“You”, Mairon hissed through his teeth. “I need you to leave. Now.”

A smile tugged at the edge of Melkor’s lips, as the Vala came closer. “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Mairon’s laugh was like the crackle of a flame. He felt his skin grow hotter, the veins under his skin glow with an eldritch light. The golden color spread to his eyes, dyed the edges of his vision with red.

“Go!” he roared as an inferno, a volcanic eruption rumbling through the earth. Tongues of flame caught in his hair, whipping wildly across the room, melting through metal and licking at wood. The sheer power of it shook the forge to the core, toppling tables and shattering instruments. The windows cracked and rattled at the pressure, and a wave of fire spread across the floor.

In front of Mairon, Melkor was still standing, unmoving as ever. A dark satisfaction flickered in the Vala’s gaze, and then he disappeared in a dark cloud of smoke, letting the armor clatter unceremoniously onto the burning floor.

A tiredness crashed upon Mairon like a wave, and the glow of his _fëa_ died out the same instant. The silvery surface of the breastplate reflected the face of a stranger, ashen cheeks and a pair of large eyes: no longer quite brown, but the shade of dried-out blood.

Mairon fell to his knees and wept among the dying flames.

*

The armor was undamaged, although the flames had destroyed most of the forge.

Mairon spent all night Singing it back to its previous state, aiming to fix every impurity and imperfection he had caused. But the more he worked on it the more he realized how flawed it had already been: how uneven the angles, how dully colored the walls and how terribly spaced the workbenches were. He wished to correct everything, to build a new forge that was larger and better and more like _him,_ but he knew he could not. The forge belonged to Aulë, not him. He was not a Vala. His task was to serve, nothing more.

There was a certain bitterness in the thought, although Mairon fought to stifle it. He had already gone too far. What had even caused him to lose his temper like that? Melkor must have done something to him. _Broken_ him. And although Mairon was a master in mending what was broken, he wasn’t sure whether he could fix this.

It was already dawn when Aulë returned to the forge, finding Mairon alone at his workstation. Momentarily Mairon mistook his power for someone else and suppressed a shudder. He gathered his composure and bowed his head to his master.

“Mairon”, Aulë greeted. “You are in early today.”

“I’m always early, master”, Mairon replied. “There is much work to be done.”

Aulë’s lips curled in a gentle smile, and he laid a hand on Mairon’s shoulder. For some reason the gesture felt condescending, as if Mairon was but a child. “Just don’t push yourself too hard.”

Aulë turned away and took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the burning forge. Then he closed his eyes and murmured thoughtfully.

“Something has changed here.”

Mairon blushed. _Aulë knew._ Of course he did. He noticed everything. For a moment Mairon wondered whether he should tell Aulë. To be free of this discord within him, of this torment and this _ache._ But what would Aulë think of him? Would he cast him out, disgusted at the very sight of him? The mere thought of being separated from his Vala filled Mairon with an existential dread. No. He couldn’t tell the truth. Aulë could never know.

“There… was an accident”, Mairon lied. “An experiment, gone awry. I had to fix what I had broken. I am sorry if there are any mistakes.”

Aulë hummed. “I’m glad you told me, Mairon.”

Aulë left him to his work. Despite getting away with lies, Mairon did not feel relieved. He did not know which was the worst: the fact that he had lied, or how _easy_ it had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, bit of a tease with the title there. ;) No actual tongues involved yet (sadly). But it is so come, so... hold your tongue.
> 
> (Pardon me, I have a horrible sense of humor).


	3. An Instrument of Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manwë's armor won't leave Mairon's thoughts, so he tries out a new approach to creation. Melkor catches Mairon red-handed, and makes him an offer.

The following days Mairon was allowed to work alone.

He got back to his old projects, doing repairs and designing something new. It allowed him to forget what had happened, to focus his mind on something else. Thus, he distracted himself. He forgot the beautiful armor he had designed for Manwë, leaving it to dust in the dark corner of his workstation.

Melkor didn’t return either, as if he had simply been a figment of Mairon’s imagination, a dark phantom. Yet restless dreams of shadow still haunted Mairon’s nights, until he decided it was easier to not sleep at all. He worked without rest, several days at a time, barely seeing sunlight. He forgot himself, becoming only an instrument of creation. Mairon was distantly aware of the glances that the other Maiar were giving him, but he chose not to care. Why would he? It was not his task to please them. They were serving a greater purpose. And no-one served that purpose better than Mairon.

Eventually Mairon lost track of time. He did not know whether it had been weeks, months or even years, before he found himself thinking of the armor again. Manwë would certainly never wear it, and Mairon hated waste. Momentarily he considered melting it and simply using the ore to craft something else, but he could not bring himself to do it. He had spent too much time crafting the piece to simply scrap and forget about it.

It was nighttime again when Mairon finally decided to take a new look at the armor. The glint of the silver was still breathtaking, and the intricacy of the engravings and feathers almost made him weep. Yet _something_ was still amiss, lacking. Mairon understood beauty. It was simple, easy even, to craft something that was pleasing to the eye. Beauty itself, however, was shallow, easily forgotten. Something that touched both the eye _and_ the soul – that was a much more complicated task.

So Mairon set to work with his soul. He did not work with his own _fëa –_ not yet – that time would come much later – but it was this very moment that would reverberate throughout the history of Arda.

Mairon began to Sing, and with his hands and his words the metal came to life. Mairon Sung words of beauty and power, entwining them into each other until the sight in front of him was no longer a pleasant landscape that one’s eye could rest on, but an eldritch kind of beauty that burned as hot as the sun. The light notes became edged with darker undertones, as all of the emotions that the armor had made Mairon feel crept onto his voice. He Sung of pain and bitterness and betrayal, of shame and lies and confusion. And all of that discord he tied together a string of secrets, of emotions bottled and hidden into the depths of darkness.

Slowly the surface of the metal started to shimmer, the patterns to shift. Elegant and symmetric swirls of wind became chaotic bursts of snow and rain. The smooth metal feathers grew a razor-like edge. The breastplate became a web of barbs and thorns, dark in color and full of dissonance. The Song reached its crescendo, setting the bindings into place, smoothing the cracks shut. And then, silence.

Mairon set the armor on the stand and observed his finished work through tear-stricken eyes. It was perfect. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever created.

“Why are you crying?” a voice asked suddenly – his imagination, surely, since there was nobody there.

Mairon wiped his tears on the back of his hand. “Because no-one will ever see it.”

“That is where you are wrong.”

Suddenly Mairon became aware of a presence, and a shudder ran through his spine. He had not been imagining after all. “Who is there?”

“Oh, Mairon. Don’t you recognize me?”

“Melkor.” The Vala’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere and everywhere simultaneously. “Why are you here? No— _where_ have you been?”

A low chuckle rumbled throughout the room. “Did you miss me?”

“You overestimate your importance.” Anger started bubbling beneath Mairon’s chest. “Show yourself!”

The fallen Vala stepped out of the shadows. He had materialized next to the now empty armor stand, and instead of his usual flowing cloths he was clad in full, dark armor, adorned with thorns and spines. _Mairon’s armor._ “It truly is a perfect fit. I am astonished.”

Mairon inhaled sharply at the sight. Although the runes made the armor painful to look at, he simultaneously found it impossible to turn away. The black metal highlighted the beautiful gray of Melkor’s skin, his impressive musculature and darkness of his hair. He looked _godlike._ Just standing in front of him was a difficult task. Mairon fought the physical urge to bow down to this magnificent creature, to swear endless fealty and to lay the world at his feet.

“You weren’t supposed to wear it”, he managed.

“Oh?” Melkor cocked a single eyebrow. “Why did you make it then?”

Mairon stumbled. It occurred to him that he didn’t know the answer. “It was… an experiment.”

“An experiment. An experiment designed exactly to fill only one body in all of Arda.” Melkor laid his hand out, admiring the ripple of light against the darkness of the plate. “One could even call this flattery.”

Mairon’s throat felt suddenly dry. “You may rest assured. It is not.”

“Very well, then. Do you commonly… _experiment_ on the other Valar, too?”

“Continuously. This was but a drop in an ocean.”

An unexpected grin split Melkor’s lips. There was something uneasy in the expression – it quite didn’t reach his eyes. “You lie, Maia. And you are not even ashamed to do it.”

Mairon flushed a bright red. He ripped his gaze away and clenched his fists. “I do not lie.”

“You are lying even now.” Melkor took a step closer. “You are unlike the other Maiar. Somehow…”

“Worse? If you have come to taunt, please, indulge yourself. Mock me, humiliate me, tear me apart with your words. It would be nothing that I could not bear.”

“…better”, Melkor finished his sentence. “Although you always expect the worst from everyone else.”

Mairon blinked. His ears surely betrayed him. “I don’t understand.”

“You are so much better than them, and you cannot even see it yourself.” Melkor lifted his arm again, as if reaching out to touch, but keeping at a safe distance. His fingers ghosted above Mairon’s skin, the empty air between them sparking as if lit by flame. “You _feel_ things. Anger. Pain. Longing.”

Mairon froze. He had thought that Aulë could see clean through him, but he couldn’t have been further from the truth. That ability belonged to Melkor only. There was nothing that Mairon could hide from him.

“Yes”, he admitted with a whisper. “I do. I know I shouldn’t, but still I do.” Mairon hung his head in shame. “What is wrong with me?”

“There is nothing wrong with you. You are perfect. It is the other Ainur that are wrong. They see the world as black and white, as a set of rules and obligations. I see none of that. For me, something such as _forbidden_ does not exist. Nor does _impossible._ They are simply concepts, nothing more than breath in the wind.”

“But the Ainur serve Eru. We obey his command.”

“Eru.” Melkor’s tone was bitter. “Why should we listen to Eru? An absent god that does nothing but observe as we make the same mistakes again and again? Why should we heed to his word?”

Mairon tried to come up with the perfect answer, something original, but the only answer he came up was the obvious one.

“He… is our god.”

Melkor smiled sadly. “You see? Even you don’t believe that.”

Mairon passed his hand over his face. His head felt like it was going to explode. All of this was too much, in too little time. How could he trust Melkor when he couldn’t even trust himself?

“There is so much more to the world than what meets the eye”, Melkor continued. His hand moved to brush a stray lock from Mairon’s face and tuck it behind his ear. “But you have been taught to see only half of the picture. The Valar have kept this from you, because it is easier to them. That is how they control you. The truth hurts, but you deserve to know.”

“Why?”

“Because you are too special to be hidden in the darkness.” Melkor’s fingers still hovered next to Mairon’s skin, too close yet too far. “Far too special.”

Mairon closed his eyes. He leaned his head to the side as if by instinct, meeting Melkor’s cupped hand. At the touch Melkor froze, his breath catching. They simply stood there for a moment, unmoving. Then, slowly Melkor moved his thumb to caress Mairon’s cheek; and for the first time in ages, Mairon allowed himself to rest.

When Mairon opened his eyes, Melkor was no longer there.

He awoke on the floor, his head leaned against his workstation. He figured he must have fallen asleep, and while he slept, Melkor had left.

Mairon rose up groggily, scanning his surroundings. It must have still been night, since the forges were empty, but he was entirely unsure how long he had slept.

Had he simply imagined all of it?

Mairon let out a deep sigh. He had to continue working.

But when he turned towards the armor stand, the armor was no longer there.

*

Melkor didn’t return the next night.

Nor the night after.

Or after that.

Mairon’s days went by in a haze. He isolated himself in a bubble of his own, trapped in a space between his mind and his work. He fulfilled the tasks that Aulë gave him with perfection, but took no real _joy_ in them. The usual creative concentration that Mairon gave his work was gone. His thoughts were lost elsewhere.

Time and time again, Mairon caught himself thinking of Melkor.

He began hammering on a piece, when midway he started thinking on how the color would look against grey skin, or contrast with raven hair. How he could change it, make it _better_ to suit someone else. He scolded himself of those thoughts – they were blasphemous – yet he could not stop them. He found himself returning to the feel of Melkor’s hand tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, the coolness of Melkor's skin against Mairon’s cheek, the vibration of his voice in Mairon’s chest. The piercing light of his dark gaze, the tilt of his lips, and the curvature of muscles under his armor. How it would feel to be touched by those hands, _really_ touched, not just held like a broken thing that would shatter at the slightest brush of skin…

Those thoughts were oft accompanied by an indescribable ache: an almost painful tingle in his loins, something he could not quite identify. He had to stop himself before the ache became too great, before he would succumb to it entirely. Often, when Mairon felt pain in his head or his muscles, touching the area would help to ease the pressure. Not with this pain. _No._ It just magnified it, causing his entire body to shake and his _fëa_ to flicker visibly on his skin. And for some unknown reason, there was an edge of _pleasure_ to the pain.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Ah!” Mairon turned around with a jolt, his cheeks flushed, hair wild. “What… is wrong with you?”

Melkor materialized onto Mairon’s table, sitting this time. He was still wearing the armor Mairon had given him – no – what he had _stolen_. His mouth was curved in a cunning smirk, in his eyes a knowing look.

“By all means, do continue. I apologize for the interruption. I could of course… _come_ later.”

Mairon swallowed. “There is no need to apologize. You interrupted nothing.”

“Silver-tongued as always, I see.”

Mairon took a deep breath and pinched his nose between his fingers. Just being in the same room with Melkor made his head spin. Every sensible thought seemed to have escaped his head.

“I don’t understand you”, he sighed. “One night you come, the next you are gone.”

Melkor ran his hand on the table, his fingers caressing the smooth surface like soft skin. “I could not stay here every night, even if I wanted to. I am not welcome here.”

“Every time you leave, I think you won’t return. Yet you always do. Why?”

Melkor’s tone was naught but a rough whisper. “I think you know why.”

There was a long pause. A silence, with nothing but their breath and the crackle of the flames. The distance between them seemed suddenly smaller, although Melkor had not moved at all. It was only when Mairon’s leg brushed against Melkor’s when he realized that it was _Mairon himself_ who had moved. Although Melkor was much taller than him, with the Vala sitting, their eyes were at level now. It somehow made things easier.

“This can’t happen”, Mairon said. “It’s impossible.”

“No.” Melkor lifted his hand slowly, tentatively, reaching out to touch Mairon’s own. And to his and Mairon’s own surprise, Mairon did not pull away. “Nothing is impossible. I told you that.”

“This is. It’s not right. The other Valar _…_ Aulë…”

“Mairon.”

Melkor traced his fingers on Mairon’s bare arm, his steely skin a stark contrast against the pale pink of Mairon’s own. Despite being a sprite of fire, the heat of the forge suddenly seemed too much to bear.

“I could give you something that no other Vala cannot. Your gifts go to waste here. The other Maiar envy you, and so does Aulë. That is why he controls you, smothers you like the wick of a candle. But I have seen the true fire that burns inside you, my little spark. A flame like yours cannot be controlled or tamed. It burns far too brightly for that.”

Mairon’s breath caught as Melkor slided his hands into his hair, took apart the braids that had been holding it back. It fell onto Mairon’s back in a fiery cascade, glowing bright in the light of the forge.

“Come with me, to Utumno. I would never quell your flames. I would only help them burn brighter.”

Mairon’s heart was beating clean out of his chest. He struggled to find the words, but to his surprise, he could not.

“I… I cannot.”

“I understand”, Melkor said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “You are Aulë’s. But if you ever choose to change your mind, the gates of Utumno will always be open to you.”

Melkor took Mairon’s face into his hands and planted a tender kiss upon his forehead. Then he stepped into empty air and disappeared.

Even long after Melkor had left, Mairon felt the touch of his lips on his skin. Although the gesture had been only momentary, it had felt better than anything Mairon had experienced through his entire life.

He knew that he shouldn’t feel this good. It was wrong.

But Mairon wasn’t sure what was right anymore, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you reached this point: thank you for reading! It brings me much joy that you have come this far. As this was but the first part of a series, there is still a lot to come. The next fics are a bit more smutty, and focus on Mairon's time in Utumno and Angband. So if you enjoyed this fic, stay tuned for more. Thank you! ♥


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